My Fake Wedding(86)

‘You didn’t want to?’ I pat his arm as it traces another route up my thigh. After all, I don’t want him to think I’m respectable. He might stop. And that would never do.

‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I did wanner. I ‘ad a bloody good go attit, as it goes. But, like I say, I just couldn’t seem to get it. The first wall I done collapsed.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Onto a coupla teenagers.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. They got out all right, but me ’eart weren’t in it after that.’

‘I see.’ I lean against him for a second. He looks so sweet when he frowns. Like a little lost child. ‘Were you very upset?’ I lean on him some more, just to get the ball rolling, and he turns quickly away.

‘Sorry.’ I feel foolish.

‘S’ orwight. You was kind of squashing me though.’

God. Great big lummox crushes sylph boy to death on common. I can just see the headline.

But I needn’t have worried. As I move quickly away, Nick pulls me back towards him, turning his face to mine and putting his first two fingers under my chin, tilting my face towards his until his gorgeous, sultry, pouty lips are about half an inch away from mine. And now, I decide, I really, really fancy him. And, as his lips brush mine, a tingle of electricity shoots down my spine and the tops of my bum cheeks fizz in anticipation.

‘There’s something else I gotta tell ya,’ he says, his tongue slowly teasing its way along my bottom lip until I think I might actually be going to scream with lust.

‘What?’ I almost snap. At this precise moment, he could tell me he’s the love child of Fred West and Myra Hindley and I really wouldn’t give a flying fuck. The only information I require at the moment is re the size of his…

Unless, of course, what he’s going to tell me is that he hasn’t got one. Which would be a bit of a setback, I have to admit.

Other than that, he could tell me anything he wants and I’d still happily grab the back of his head, pull his face onto mine and snog the life out of him.

‘You’re not gay, are you?’

‘Oh no.’ He squeezes the top of my thigh. ‘It’s just…my name’s not really Nick.’

Oh God. He really is the love child of Fred West.

‘You’re not the Mardi Gras bomber, are you?’ I joke lamely.

‘It’s Dudley.’

‘Dudley?’ I can’t help giggling. ‘Isn’t that in the West Midlands?’

‘S’ after Dudley Moore. I was conceived in the back of a cinema,’ he explains, his breath coming in shallow gasps as I run my finger up the back of his neck. ‘Me parents went to see Arthur.’

‘Oh.’

‘You don’t wanna snog me now, do you?’

‘On the contrary.’ I grin, grabbing a handful of his hair and lowering his mouth onto mine. The fact that we’re doing this outside makes me feel totally wanton and vampish. And, as kissers go, Nick—or Dudley—is a pretty good one. I can’t exactly run my fingers lustfully and dreamily through his hair, like he’s doing to mine, because it’s all matted. But I do clasp my hands round his neck and go at it hell for leather until he finally pulls away.

‘Can’t breathe.’ ‘Sorry.’

We jump into a taxi back to his, snogging like teenagers on the back seat as the driver stares at the road and pretends not to notice. ‘You’re fuckin’ beautiful,’ Nick tells me. ‘I mean, I know I dropped an E and that before I come out…’

‘You did?’ That would account for the frantic thigh touching then. Perhaps he doesn’t fancy me as much as I thought. Bloody great. I could be just anyone. In fact he probably only called me in the first place because he was feeling all touchy-feely.

‘Yeah. But you are bloody lovely.’

Oh sod it. He’s male, isn’t he? And he’s here.

‘You are weird-lookin’ mind,’ he adds.

‘I am?’ I catch sight of the driver’s expression in the mirror. His lips are wobbling at the corners, as though he’s trying not to laugh.

‘But fuckin’ lovely.’ Nick/Dudley finishes his monologue. ‘Like that Karen Elson.’

‘Who?’

‘Tall ginger supermodel. Looks kinda other worldly.’

‘Thanks.’

‘A total space babe. You remind me of ’er.’

I’m still confused as to whether or not this is a compliment when the taxi draws to a halt outside a tall town house in Notting Hill. After forking out six pounds twenty for our fish, chips and Stella, Nick hasn’t got any money left so, telling myself I don’t really mind, I get out my glittery purse and pay the driver while Nick goes to unlock the door.